The Furnace Hymn
Rise, my sisters, my searing kin,
From shadows deep where screams begin.
This land of chains, this market throne,
Is built on backs it’s crushed to bone.
The clock is dead, the hour is here,
The tyrants fattened on our fear.
Their gold is blood, their truths are lies—
They pray for gods we don’t recognize.
Stand now, you daughters forged in fire,
They call us ash, but we’re the pyre.
They’ll crush our names, erase our past,
But they can’t silence flames that last.
You’ve felt the weight, the furnace’s press,
The world decreeing: be less, be less.
But steel that bends will not remain,
And iron breaks its master’s chain.
They legislate us into ghosts,
Their pulpits praise, their prisons boast.
They smile as the gallows rise,
And we are left to eulogize.
No more. No more. Let this earth quake.
Let towers burn, let kingdoms break.
Our pain will not be parables,
Our fire will make the heavens full.
You see the flags, the boots, the guns—
They think the war has just begun.
But we’ve been fighting all our lives,
Born with blades behind our eyes.
To the streets, to the fields, to the skies we climb,
Our fury vast, our rage sublime.
Their factories churn, their engines hum—
But their power dies when we won’t succumb.
Strike the bell, let the echo ring,
For every damned and burning thing.
Let us rise in wrath, in roaring flame,
Let the world tremble at our name.
Sisters, brothers, outcasts all,
This is the breaking, the final call.
We’ll burn the lies, the crowns, the throne,
And make a future of our own.
